


when the road looks rough ahead (and you're miles and miles from your nice warm bed)

by CordeliaRose



Series: Corey/Morey [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Corey - Freeform, Multi, and how they help corey warm up, and i will continue to write nonsense about him until the day i die, anyway, each chapter focuses on a separate member of the pack, he is the cutest babe ever, i love corey with my whole heart basically, idk how frequent updates will be bc my life is hectic, morey, trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-03-02 04:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13310793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CordeliaRose/pseuds/CordeliaRose
Summary: ectotherm; ec·to·therm; (ĕk′tə-thûrm′): n.An organism that depends on external sources for its body heat.Corey gets cold easily. Luckily, the pack have their ways of warming him up.Multi-chaptered fic focusing on individual members of the pack helping Corey keep warm.Chapter 1: ScottChapter 2: Malia





	1. Chapter 1: Scott

hello, have some trash

* * *

 

Invisibility had its perks. Although, as Mason kept telling him, it wasn’t true invisibility, but more of an ability to transport himself to an overlapping plane of existence, hence Corey being able to see the Ghost Riders – although perhaps that was because of Corey’s second set of genes that he’d gotten by the Dread Doctors, they had given all the chimeras two, and nobody was quite sure what exactly he had aside from the chameleon genes – anyway – and also being able to see full-stop when he couldn’t be seen (apparently if you were invisible you wouldn’t be able to see because of the light rays passing through you – something like that? Corey had tuned out and just watched fondly as Mason ranted about particles). But yeah, being able to camouflage into the background was fairly advantageous. Corey liked it, for the most part, liked that he could slip in and out of places with nobody knowing (it did wonders for his social anxiety), and liked that he could help the pack out with his unique ability.

What he didn’t like was one of the more major side-effects that came with the reptilian genes: that he was now ectothermic (as Mason would put it), or cold-blooded (as Corey would put it). He’d read books about reptiles since his resurrection, looked it up online, and tried to understand the more complicated descriptions surrounding it, but in the end had settled for the more simple explanation: he got cold pretty easily.

And that sucked.

In summer it wasn’t so bad; in fact, it was quite good, because California got really hot, and during those times where everyone else was literally sweating swimming pools, he was at a perfect temperature. For the most part. He still had to blast the AC sometimes.

But in winter, it was the worst. He cranked the heating up to the max during that time (and honestly, thank God that his parents didn’t know how to do their finances properly and just had their bills set up automatically because he doesn’t want to think what would happen if they saw how much it cost) and piled on blankets and coats, but it was still not quite enough a lot of the time. He’d gone to Mason’s house last Christmas, and sat in front of the fire the whole time, only moving when it was time to eat and go to bed. Luckily, it didn’t seem to freak his boyfriend’s parents out too much; Mason made an offhand comment about how Corey felt the cold easily, and his father had just nodded while his mom immediately started fussing about extra blankets and hot drinks.

Christmas was a good memory. Most of his memories that had Mason in were good. When Corey got particularly cold, he thought about his boyfriend, and it made him feel a little warmer. Sometimes he did slightly more than think about him, which really made him quite warm.

Right now, though, he was absolutely freezing. All of the pack were back in Beacon Hills for the holidays, and they’d decided to make the most of the time back together not by having a game night, or a nice meal together, or even going to see a movie (which Corey was personally in favour of, because he could turn himself and Mason invisible halfway through and sneak to the bathroom for a make-out session), but by splitting into pairs and patrolling the town for any supernatural misconduct.

Corey would have assumed he’d be going with Mason; it was how they always split, and then Liam would go with Theo, and Lydia with Stiles, and Scott with Malia. But Mason hadn’t been able to make it, because his great-aunt was visiting, and Malia was having a meal with Peter and Derek to get to know her dad and cousin a bit better, so it seemed natural for Scott and Corey to pair up.

Corey didn’t feel scared around Scott now, ever since the werewolf had sat down and apologised profusely for shoving his claws into his spinal column, but he wouldn’t say he was exactly comfortable around the alpha either.

So he was quite content to let Scott bound ahead, the wolf slightly giddy from all the familiar scents he was picking up, while he trailed behind and glanced about half-heartedly every so often. They were checking out the mall and the area surrounding it, which spanned a couple of miles in diameter, and honestly Corey was getting kind of weirded out by all the mannequins he could see in the windows. Freaky no-faced things.

He shuddered, partially from the sight and partially from the chill in the air, and wrapped his three jackets a little tighter around himself, wishing that he’d brought a fourth and maybe even a fifth. He took another minute to look around, checking that there were indeed no creatures about to maul some innocent citizens, then jogged to catch up with Scott, who was enthusiastically examining, of all things, a broken fire hydrant.

“How long has this been broken?” he yelled when Corey caught up to him, circling the object suspiciously.

Corey shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe a couple weeks? And it was probably some stupid teenagers, not a were-anteater or whatever.”

Scott grins. “Were-anteater? That I’d like to see.” Maybe saying that conjures up memories of the Dread Doctors artificially splicing creatures together, because he stops smiling. “Dude, why do you smell so miserable?” Or maybe that’s why.

Corey considers lying for a minute, but Scott has his best confused puppy expression on and looks genuinely upset about it…and besides, Scott can not only smell his chemo signals but also hear his heartbeat, so there’d be no point. All that would happen is Scott would think Corey doesn’t trust him.

He goes with what is mostly the truth. “I’m just really cold.” He leaves out that he’s bored as shit, because that would just hurt Scott’s feelings, and it’s not his fault. It’s Mason’s, for being a lovely person and cooking his elderly great-aunt dinner, and Corey will be demanding some form of consolation prize when his boyfriend gets home. Probably in the form of kisses.

Scott’s expression immediately changes from confusion to worry, and he flails in a way that Stiles would be proud of. “Why didn’t you say?” he exclaims. “How cold?”

Corey gestures uselessly, in a way that Stiles would also approve of. “I don’t know a scale! Is there a scale for coldness?”

Scott stares at him. “Fahrenheit?”

Corey squints at him. “I can’t use Fahrenheit on my own body.”

“I guess…” Scott shakes his head. “Not the point! Anyway. How cold?”

“Really cold. Blood turning into ice cold.”

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Corey suddenly feels really awkward, and he doesn’t know why, and that makes his anxiety spike so his heart starts beating, and he knows Scott knows because he cocks his head to the side, looking confused. Corey tries to think of something to say to defuse the situation, but before he can really think of anything he gets wrapped up in a Scott Hug. The sudden movement alarms him, and he tenses and squirms instinctively, before hesitantly relaxing into the embrace. Only because it’s warm.

“Tell me if you get too hot,” Scott murmurs, seemingly not finding this entire situation odd or awkward at all.

Corey does, and is also odd and awkward himself, so his mouth decides to answer Scott’s question, and it ends up being way more truthful than he intended because his brain doesn’t quite manage to catch up in time. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to be annoying or a burden or make your life difficult!” Oh shit, too truthful. Abort mission, run away, start a new life in Mexico, Corey’s planned for this.

“You have some issues, dude. If you want to talk about it, you can always come find me. I mean, I’m guessing there’s a reason for them.”

“Actually, no, I just have crippling anxiety for the fuck of it.”

That shocks a laugh out of Scott, and he squeezes him a little tighter before muttering, “I’ve never heard you swear before.”

Corey shrugs as best he can into the hug. “You don’t really talk to me that much.” The words aren’t intended as a guilt trip, but from the way Scott freezes he takes them that way. “I haven’t really made an effort to talk to you either, though,” he tries to rectify.

Scott relaxes again, and actually, Corey can see why everyone loves Scott Hugs. He’d probably take a hug from most people right now, but this isn’t just warming him up…it’s calming him down. He feels his anxiety dissipate and unconsciously burrows his face deeper into Scott’s clothing, Scott’s scent. It’s having almost the same effect as Mason’s scent does, which is really weird, but Corey doesn’t want whatever it is to end so he just leans into the hug and closes his eyes, listening to Scott’s steady heartbeat. He’s so lovely and warm now, like he’s at home with the heating on full blast and wrapped in a blanket.

He doesn’t realise he’s fallen asleep until he’s waking up, in the passenger seat of Ms McCall’s car that they’ve borrowed for the night, a blanket folded into a cushion between his head and the window and another two blankets thrown over him, and the heating turned up full blast. He glances to the side and sees Scott driving, eyes focused on the road as he taps his thumbs on the steering wheel to whatever song he’s got in his head, and visibly sweating from the heat in the car.

Corey tries to get his attention by saying his name, but he’s still drowsy so he just kind of mutters a few consonants with a vowel thrown in there, but it does the trick. Scott glances over and smiles at him. “Hey.” Corey’s getting used to hearing affection in people’s voices now, mostly thanks to Mason, but it’s still a surprise hearing it from Scott.

“I fell asleep?” His cheeks heat up a little, but he’s still too tired to be properly embarrassed.

“Yeah.” Scott wipes at his forehead subtly, but they’re passing under a street lamp so Corey clocks the movement. “My hugs are just that good.”

Corey stretches without dislodging the blankets. He’s so nice and warm, but he feels bad about making Scott so hot. “Thanks for all this,” he murmurs, snuggling down and tucking his feet up under the blankets too. Scott’s even taken his shoes off for him, presumably because of the mud they’d been traipsing through.

“No problem.” Scott’s voice is soft and reassuring, and Corey falls back asleep before he can help it.

He’ll be plenty embarrassed the next morning, when he wakes up in the McCall’s spare bedroom and can hear Scott enthusing to his mom about how cute Corey was when he fell asleep in the middle of the hug.

He’ll be slightly less embarrassed when Melissa wakes him up with pancakes and tells him that he’s always welcome in her home, whenever.

For now, he’s warm.

* * *

 

this has??? no point to it whatsoever???????????? but i hope you enjoyed anyway, you guys are always so lovely and supportive so thank you so much i love you all<3

if you're interested, my tumblr can be found [here ](http://asperger-girl.tumblr.com/)and my tumblr ask [here](http://asperger-girl.tumblr.com/ask)


	2. Chapter 2: Malia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been a long time in the making. months, in fact. i lost inspiration for a while, not just for this fic but for writing in general, so i've been slowly easing back in and stuff. anyway, take my trash

_ One new message _

_ From: Scott McCall _

**_Hey Corey! Pack nite @ mine…u up 4 it? :)_ **

 

_ To: Scott McCall _

**_I’ll be there_ **

 

Corey drops his phone on his bed, scowling. Not that he hates pack nights – it’s more that…he hates pack nights. He never really feels relaxed around large groups of people, he doesn’t enjoy most of the games that the rest of them like to play (board games or some Uno he could deal with – strip poker and truth or dare not so much), and because werewolves actually run a little hotter than normal humans, the thermostat is always dialled down. He’d better text Mason and ask him to bring his mini-heater along again.

 

Before he can even reach out to his phone, it vibrates with a text and promptly takes a suicide leap onto the floor at the movement. Swearing under his breath, Corey leans down to pick him up, and checks the screen to find a text from Mason. He smiles automatically at the name on his screen, then frowns when he sees the content of the message. By anybody’s standard, getting a text from one’s boyfriend that just said ‘Sorry’ was quite alarming. Another text from Mason appears on the screen, and Corey closes his eyes for a second to brace himself for the inevitable break-up text that he was certain would appear. When he finally checks, he just sees ‘I tried to stop her’ instead. He frowns again, wondering whether Mason has finally cracked under the pressure of being a human involved in the supernatural world.

 

No more than two seconds later, the distinct rumble of a car engine can be heard from just outside the house. Corey tilts his head to the side to listen to it better; it doesn’t sound like Mason’s, but is still somewhat familiar. He regrets focusing his hearing on it a moment later, though, when whoever is in the car leans on the horn. Later, Corey will swear to Mason that his eardrums burst and then repaired themselves again. For the time being, he falls off the bed and groans at both the noise and the impact, and glares at the ceiling.

 

The horn’s blast is replaced with a shout – a very recognisable shout. “Hurry up!” Malia barks, and sounds the horn for a second to emphasise her point. “We haven’t got all day!”

 

Suddenly, Mason’s text is making a lot more sense.

 

Grumbling, Corey grabs a hoodie from his desk chair – to go over his three layers that he’s already wearing – and his phone, and jogs downstairs. “What are you doing here?” he says at a normal volume, knowing Malia will be able to hear him.

 

“We need to get snacks,” she replies, thankfully also at a lower volume. “Scott asked us to go. Last time you and Mason went you spent ages making out in the parking lot and we were all really hungry.”

 

Grumbling to himself - no proper words, just sounds - Corey shoves his shoes on and rummages around on the cluttered side table for his keys. He really needs to clean it up - the mess is mostly just gum wrappers and old receipts, with the occasional bus or train ticket. He locks the door behind him, shoving the key into his pocket, and hurries over to the passenger side of Malia’s car.

 

“Took you long enough,” she complains as he buckles himself in. To make up for the lost time, she throws the car into reverse and slams onto the gas, sending them skidding out to the road before she swings around and sends them flying forward.

 

Silence reigns in the car, until:

 

“So. Parents, huh?”

 

Corey casts her a wary sideways glance. She’s staring straight ahead through the windshield, hands at ten and two. As he’s watching her, she nods slowly, and says, “They’re, uh, pretty shitty, hey?”

 

Not quite sure what else to do, Corey says, “Yeah.”

 

Malia nods again. She seems pretty confident in her driving abilities, but Corey isn’t so sure - they shouldn’t be going at double the speed limit, for a start, and they seem to be drifting across the road on most of the corners. It’s a miracle they haven’t met any other drivers yet.

 

“Parents, they just - they just  _ suck _ ,” Malia says emphatically, lifting her thumbs off the steering wheel in place of shrugging. “Like, they make you, and they decide to keep you - and then they try to kill you! Like, what the fuck?” She looks sideways at him, presumably sees his wide-eyed expression and backtracks. “Well, that’s just my case, I’m sure yours haven’t tried to kill you.”

 

“Not directly,” Corey mumbles, and shrinks back in on himself. He ignores the sympathetic look Malia is now shooting him, it doesn’t look natural. “What snacks do we need?”

 

“The usual. And cheesecake, lots of cheesecake. Me and Lydia got our periods at the same time, so we both need cheesecake therapy.”

 

“So, like - two cheesecakes?”

 

“Dude, no.” Malia looks offended. “Two for Lydia, and at least five for me.”

 

“Lydia won’t be able to eat two cheesecakes,” Corey protests weakly. He’s seen Lydia eat, and she barely manages half a salad at lunchtimes.

 

“Corey, you’re gay, so you won’t know this, but when girls get their periods - it’s like they’re a werewolf, okay? There’s a reason some girls call it wolf week.”

 

“You can usually eat two cheesecakes anyway,” Corey says slowly. “So will five be enough?”

 

Malia grins, sharp and glinting like a knife. “You’re right. Make it at least seven.”

 

* * *

 

The first thing Malia does at the store is grab a cart, which wouldn’t be a problem except she nearly takes out an old lady as she glides through the automatic doors. Corey has to grab the side of it and wrangle it back, and they both get a nasty glare, Corey apparently by association with the ever-oblivious Malia.

 

“Go to the chips aisle and grab all the usual stuff,” Malia instructs. “I’ll get the candy, then meet in the desserts aisle.” She doesn’t wait for his affirmation before she struts off with the cart, narrowly missing a neatly stacked display of canned beans.

 

Corey trudges off to the chips aisle, grabbing all the bags they need on autopilot. His arms are full by the time he’s finished; forget the fact that half of them are supernatural, there’s also a lot of growing teenagers who are constantly hungry. He thinks he sees the same old lady Malia nearly annihilated as he staggers away, giving him another ferocious glare, and he feels the near-crazy urge to protest that it’s not all for him, just for a group of werewolves, werecoyotes, chimeras and a banshee.

 

He’s relieved once he locates the desserts aisle, and their cart. He drops the bags of chips into it gracelessly, noting that the cart was already a third full with various chocolate bars and bags of candy. Maybe Malia wasn’t the best person to leave in charge of getting everything, she seems to have chucked double of what they usually buy in there.

 

He feels relieved to be rid of his burden - admittedly it wasn’t exactly heavy, but it had a lot of bulk to it - until he realises that the dessert aisle is refrigerated. He plans to sneak back out, pretend he’s forgotten something, but the rustling he caused when he dropped the bags into the cart was picked up by Malia’s sensitive hearing. “I think I forgot something,” he says, taking a step back.

 

“No, you got it all,” Malia says, in what she probably thinks it a reassuring tone, scanning over the items in the cart. She probably thinks that he’s just worrying for no reason (thank you, Mason, for telling the entire pack that Corey is a worrier) so she drags him over to the cheesecakes. “Help me pick,” she demands.

 

“I hear lemon is nice,” Corey offers, already feeling cold seep into his bones just from being in front of the fridge. “Got a nice zing to it.”

 

“Not sure I want a zing,” Malia hums, and grabs four chocolate cheesecakes. “Two each, that should satisfy the beast.”

 

“The beast?”

 

“Our uteruses. They demand chocolate in return for no baby.”

 

“Seems like a fair deal,” Corey says unsurely. 

 

“Not when you never planned to have a baby in the first place,” Malia points out, then grabs another chocolate cheesecake. “Oh, banoffee. That looks nice. One of those, and - berry medley! Sweet.”

 

“Is that all of them?”

 

“No, I need a few more, I want to have a look at these ones.” Malia spends the next five minutes examining a variety of cheesecakes while Corey does his absolute best not to freeze his balls off. Both sides of the aisle are churning out cold air so he does his best to find the middle and stand there exactly.

 

“Alright, leggo,” Malia says finally, chucking the last of the cheesecakes into the cart where they threaten to spill out over the sides, heaped on top of the other snacks.

 

Corey’s legs obey him slowly, dragging along the tiles as he valiantly tries to make them work. The muscles seem to have become leaden, all over his entire body, and it’s a struggle to keep up with Malia’s brisk trot over to the cash registers.

 

Their total comes to over a hundred dollars, unsurprisingly, and the cashier looks fairly startled to be given a series of ten dollar notes with are sellotaped together. “Got into a fight,” Malia tells him, which is the truth. She just leaves out the part where it was against a wild coyote which tore her wallet in half.

 

The cashier nods. Corey notices that when he takes the money his hands were trembling slightly. He tries to offer him a reassuring smile as they leave, but his face still feels pretty frozen so it comes out as more of a grimace. The cashier looks more afraid than ever.

 

Malia charges out with the cart, thankfully avoiding any geriatric casualties this time, and goes for the interesting loading technique of throwing all of the bags haphazardly into the trunk of the car. Some of the chips end up on top, at least. He’s sure the others won’t mind if their snacks are mildly pulverised.

 

She rolls the cart in the general direction of the shelter and locks the car again. Corey thinks of telling her that a car has to be unlocked before one can get inside it, but squashes the words down when she turns with him, wearing a smile that can only be described as maniacal. “We’re gonna fight,” she announces proudly, rolling up the sleeves of her plaid overshirt.

 

Corey blinks at her. “Why would we do that?”

 

“You’re shivering,” Malia says. Corey fails to connect the dots. “Whenever I fight, I always get so hot! Like, I have to strip off and sit in front of the air conditioning unit sometimes.”

 

“That’s nice,” Corey says, playing stupid, because he really doesn’t want to fight Malia. Even if it would stop him being so cold. The car’s heating could do exactly the same, and he points out as much.

 

“But that’s boring,” Malia says, frowning.

 

“And less painful.”

 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Malia snorts, like  _ how did that idea get into your head? _ She acts like she’s going to step forward, and Corey flinches back instinctively, but she jumps back again and then slides over the hood of the car to approach him from behind.

 

He may not be a fighter, but he’s good enough at defending himself. He whirls, brings up his forearm to block the hit, and automatically kicks out at the same time. Malia shuffles backwards to avoid the kick and keeps attacking, from all different angles until she’s apparently satisfied that Corey can sufficiently keep her off. He has the feeling she was going fairly easy on him, too.

 

“Are you warm now?” Malia pants. Her blondey-brown hair was neatly tucked back in a messy plait but has now exploded over the back of her head and neck, some strands slick with sweat and others sticking to her neck and cheek and forehead. She looks exhilarated.

 

“I--” Corey assesses himself. He is warm, he guesses, but not quite as warm as he’d like to be. “Yes. Thank you. Can we get in the car now?”

 

Malia beams. “Sure, dude.” She stabs at her key through her shorts pockets until the car unlocks. Corey wastes no time in clambering in alongside her, and as he clicks his seatbelt into place a sudden blast of warm air socks him in the face.

 

He looks up to see Malia twisting the dials round to the highest temperature setting and the top fan option with a small, embarrassed smile. “Do you like Rihanna?” she asks, turning on the stereo and selecting her phone from the dropdown list of Bluetooth devices.

 

“I think everyone likes Rihanna.”

 

Malia nods approvingly. “Right answer.” She connects her phone, turns the volume dial up to full, and presses shuffle under Rihanna’s name.  _ Bitch Better Have My Money _ booms out from the speakers, and yet another elderly woman walking by shoots them a disapproving look - why are there so many old ladies grocery shopping late on a Tuesday night?

 

Corey soon forgets about it, and on this journey he can’t even find it in him to be worried about Malia’s dodgy driving (though he does hear several crunches from the backseat and trunk, and mourns whatever delicious snack has been decimated). Instead, he sings along with Malia, and they pull up into Scott’s driveway halfway through  _ S&M _ .

 

By some unspoken decision, they both stay in the car to finish the song, but then  _ Disturbia _ comes on and they decide that they have to sing through that one as well. Liam interrupts them halfway through, emerging from the front door with his hands over his ears, looking pained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t r a s h


End file.
